


all the king's horses

by redandgold



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M, bangster but more banter than angst!!!, cameos from phil / souness / the sky boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-08-18 03:58:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8148407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redandgold/pseuds/redandgold
Summary: things change when people fuck off to spain.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aliccolo (guti)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/guti/gifts).



> prompt: after many months apart, carraville are reunited for monday night football. they fit back together professionally but there is tension in their personal interactions (whether they were ~*a thing*~ before gary left is up to your discretion, author... maybe they hooked up once before gary left, or maybe they hooked up while jamie was in barcelona on the infamous 7-0 loss at camp nou???) anyways, the tension becomes too much to take until one of them finally makes a move.

**i.**

 

 _01.09.13_ _  
_ _Liverpool 1-0 Manchester United_

Jamie is sitting across a Gary Neville who looks like he's this close to punching him in the face, and that's the best sort of Gary Neville to be sitting across.

Ed looks back and forth like he's trapped in a lion enclosure with a ten-pound steak stuck to him and no conceivable escape. "So, uh, Gary," he prods gently. "What did you think of the game yesterday?"

Gary grips his pen so hard that Jamie desperately hopes it's going to snap. It would, he reasons, make for great TV. The camera isn't on him so he levels a gaze at Gary - the most superior, holier-than-thou smirk that he can muster - and waits patiently for the reaction.

"Liverpool were very good," Gary says at last, a blankness taking over his features and a dull, professional edge creeping into his voice. Jamie has the feeling that Ed is sitting between them solely to prevent Gary from crippling Jamie for life under the table. He goes on for ten minutes of United failures, all bitter and sullen no matter how hard as he tries for the cameras, and then Jamie takes over, practically glowing in his praise of Liverpool's scintillating display.

After the show is over Ed asks Jamie for a pint, to which he readily agrees. "Eh, Neville," he calls across the studio to where Gary is standing, murderously stuffing his arms into his jacket. "Want to come along? Promise you won't get hit on - Sturridge isn't around."

Gary mutters something that rhymes with 'duck toff' and storms out of the studio. Jamie thinks that he could get used to this Sky Sports lark after all.

 

 _16.03.14_ _  
_ _Liverpool 3-0 Manchester United_

Three nails in the coffin, thank you, Moyes, good night Manchester. Jamie comes into work extra early on the Monday with a specially made muffin emblazoned with the scoreline, which he duly leaves on Gary's desk. Gary walks in and picks up the muffin.

"Gonna eat that?" Jamie sniggers. Gary looks genuinely torn between his insatiable stomach and his innate urge to hurl it against the wall. In the end he scrapes off the icing and eats the rest of it.

"You're a fucking twat, Carragher," he mumbles with his mouth full of crumbs.

"I know," Jamie says, before he shuts himself up. He almost said that _fondly_. Fucking hell.

 

He catches himself later wondering whether Gary likes him back, which is a very worrying thought, particularly because of the implication of 'back'. "It's strictly platonic," he tells Stevie over the phone that night, mumbling even more in Scouse as if that will ward off all unnecessary implications. "And even then it's not proper platonic, y'know? Sort of. I can tolerate him. Is all."

"Uh huh," Stevie says, looking like he'd sooner believe that Xabi had come back to Liverpool and they were going to run off into the sunset holding hands together. "Tell me, what's it like being in love with a Manc? Is it all squirmy?"

"Fuck off," Jamie growls and puts down the phone, though unfortunately not quickly enough to miss Stevie's awful howling (the man sounds like a hyena on helium). His next thought is to call Redders, because Redders knows the both of them and maybe he can help sort this out.

As it turns out, calling someone who makes a living off a sports banter show isn't the greatest of ideas. It's ten minutes before Redders stops laughing and fifteen before he finally gets enough breath back to sound like he's not having an asthma attack.

"Gary Neville?" he wheezes. "Our Gary? Used to be called a wanker Gary? Yells in your face every opportunity he gets Gary? Comes into work looking like his mum dressed him Gary? Eats a billion tic-tacs at every commercial break Gary?"

"I just mean tolerating," Jamie scoffs. "Also it's starbursts, not tic-tacs."

Redders stops giggling and inhales sharply. "Dear lord. This is serious."

"Fuck you," Jamie growls and puts down the phone, then puts his face into his hands and muffles a scream. Three nil beating the Mancs and he can't even enjoy it, because one of them is going to end up stuck in his head for the next three weeks at least.

Xabi tells him he needs therapy.

 

 _14.12.14_ _  
_ _Liverpool 0-3 Manchester United_

"Can't fucking believe it," Jamie fumes to Redders after the game, when they're off air and Redders has repeatedly checked to make sure that no cameras are on to record anything they shouldn't be recording. God knows he's had enough problems with when the cameras _were_ recording what they should have been (anyone only needed to mutter 'Thomas Cook' to him to make him go all splotchy). "Fucking hell. That's the - how many fucking times is that? I fucking hate them, J, I fucking hate all of them."

Losing is awful. Losing to United the worst thing in the world. Jamie stops pacing and slumps in his chair, his face that particular shade of red that made most people afraid to approach him for fear of losing parts of their anatomy. Redders gives him a hesitant nudge.

"Not all of them," he says, somehow managing to be coy despite the general apocalyptic nature of life as they know it etc. Jamie looks at him in disgust.

" _Now_ , J? Really? Can we pick another time to make fun of my embarrassing secret?"

"What embarrassing secret?" Gary says from the doorway. Jamie jumps and is fairly sure that Redders has either pissed himself laughing or is about to. "Is this the one about New Year's Eve, '97?"

Redders chokes on a glass of water. Jamie hopes he dies. "What? Carra, you _told_ him about that?"

"You'd be surprised what a few pints and a bottle of good chablis can do," Gary smirks and comes round to give Jamie a suspiciously familiar cupcake with a suspiciously familiar scoreline emblazoned on it. Jamie hopes he dies too. In fact, ideally, everyone would die, and he wouldn't have to deal with any of this because he'd also be dead.

"Chablis?" Redders asks, raising his eyebrows in Jamie's direction. "You two house visiting already?"

"Just a couple of times," Jamie growls and transfers his glare back towards Gary. "Can we continue the scheduled programme of Manc bashing now?"

"I think you'll find it's the Scouse bashing that continues," Gary says with an air of lofty superiority that makes Jamie want to do unspeakable things of the other variety (the sort that would get him sent to actual prison for assault, not just the naughty step in Stevie's house for dirtiness). "I heard that league you ordered still hasn't arrived?"

"Caught up in the same postage jam as yours," Jamie fires back, wishing it wasn't so easy. Wishing that they could just be normal people who hated each other, like Ferdinand and Terry, or everyone and Joey Barton. That every second spent with Gary doesn't make him think of what it'd have been like, growing up a part of that class of lads, being friends the easy way.

They banter a bit more before Gary leaves for a celebratory pint with said friends. Redders waits till he's gone before giving Jamie a sympathetic head tilt.

"You're fucked, big man," he says, not unkindly.

"I know." Jamie stares at the wall and feels like drowning.

 

 _12.09.15_ _  
_ _Liverpool 1-3 Manchester United_

"Good mo-orning," Gary chirps, walking into make-up with a swagger that makes Jamie idly wonder if two-footing someone while off the pitch is frowned upon. "I see you decided to turn up after all?"

"I get paid for it," Jamie mutters through gritted teeth and a two fingered salute of the unsavoury sort. Gary pats him on the head with about as much affection as a secondary school friend he hadn't seen in years. Jamie wishes it'd be just a little more romantic and then feels like he wants to take a long bath in holy water after.

"Small comforts," Gary shrugs, flopping into the chair opposite him and mouthing the word 'Martial' at him more times than he really should have been allowed to. "Consider it revenge, Carragher. Nowadays we get to win and you get to be all great character-y."

Ordinarily this would be the point where Jamie storms out of the room with a few choice words to say about Mancs, none of them suitable for children. But he stays in his seat and stares at Gary so hard that Gary swallows and looks around for something to stare at without it being weird.

"Starting to freak me out a bit here, mate. Is this like the thousand yard stare of a Scouse loser that you've been practicing for 20 years?"

"Your tie's undone," Jamie says instead, standing up and taking a step closer to Gary. Gary takes a step back and scoffs nervously, and not in the way he scoffs when someone tells him there's no way he can finish that pot noodle.

"I know it is. Last I checked, I'm not blind, unlike Mignolet."

"Stop moving."

Jamie reaches for the edge of Gary's tie. Gary lets him, standing stock still, eyes wide.

"Carragher. Respond to the banter, will you? This is like hitting one of those roly-poly toys, except this one just falls down and dies. And that is really off putting for kids."

Jamie ignores him and deftly flicks one end of the tie around the other, tucking it into a knot and reaching behind Gary's collar to smoothen it down. They're inches away from each other and he's painfully aware of the way Gary's looking at him, a mix of surprise and mildly catatonic shock.

If this had been a movie, it would have been the part where they realised how ridiculously in love they were, shared an extremely satisfying kiss, and then snuck off somewhere to have mind-blowing sex. Unfortunately, this isn't a movie, and Jamie swallows before stepping back and letting Gary examine the knot.

"You tie a good tie," Gary concedes finally, pulling at the knot and not meeting his eyes. "'Was afraid you were going to strangle me or summat."

"I should have," he replies, the banter creeping back into his voice. "You're pretty annoying for someone who's won fuck all since your referee-buying manager left."

"There we go." Gary looks at him now, though it's now slightly confused, as if he's trying to put his finger on something that was never there. "I gotta tell you, that weirded me out. Jamie Carragher not defending Liverpool is like - like - "

"Like Gary Neville not defending United," Jamie says, smiles without meaning to.

Then again, so does Gary.

 

**ii.**

 

 _02.12.15_ _  
_ _Liverpool 6-1 Southampton_

It's like Gary Neville not being on Monday Night Football.

Jamie's lounging around waiting for the Liverpool game to start when Ed texts him. _Knew about this?_ He's sent a link to a tweet about Valencia's new manager and Jamie feels his heart drop to the bottom of his stomach.

"You're fucking crazy, mate," he says when Gary picks up the phone on the second try. Gary laughs shortly.

"You and everyone else thinks so. Scholesy's refusing to talk to me."

"You're going to get slaughtered. It's a fucking cauldron out there."

"Jamie, listen."

"They're not going to give you a chance. You don't even speak bloody Spanish, how are you going to talk to them?"

"Jamie."

Jamie stops, listens to Gary's breath soft over the phone.

"These two years. It's been fun."

"Don't get sentimental on me, Neville. I'm still pissed."

"Why would you be pissed? You get your own show now. No one to show you up."

"Because - "

There are so many ways to finish that sentence that Jamie isn't even sure he wants to. He settles for something lame about Ed being awful at banter and leaves the rest unsaid. Gary laughs.

"Relax, mate. I'll be home for the holidays and shit. I'll have you over for Christmas and you can let all the saved-up Northwest derby feelings out, deal?"

"Just like old times," Jamie says as he hangs up, but he's digging his fingers into his palm. He used to talk to Stevie every day before he left for L. A., and now he's lucky if he gets him once a month. And this is. Different. This was always something that required the two of them seeing each other every week, without club loyalty to bond them for life. Already he can feel the twitter banter slipping from his grasp.

 _Actually alright,_ he reads later on his phone. He turns the screen off and clutches it tight and hopes.

 

 _02.01.16_ _  
_ _Liverpool 0-2 West Ham_

The Cockneys wish them happy new year by battering them in London, and Jamie trawls back up filled with self-loathing and a desperation that tomorrow he'll wake up and realise he doesn't actually care about football. Or the fact that two days ago, Villareal extended Valencia's winless streak to god knows how many games, and Gary's face on the telly looked thinner than ever.

He meets Scholes at a rest stop on the M1 by chance and primes himself for the 'hammered' jokes. "Go on, then. Do your worst." Scholes looks at him quietly.

"I'm not him," he says.

Jamie knocks over his coffee. Grumbling under his breath, Scholes helps him to mop it up, then grabs his sandwich and disappears like he always did after games. (Jamie remembers asking Gary if he practiced kissing Scholes, remembers the 'against Liverpool a few times'.)

No one is Gary. Gary is Gary, and he's a thousand miles away.

 

 _17.01.16_ _  
_ _Liverpool 0-1 Manchester United_

"At least you won't have to deal with the banter," Redders says. "Now that Sky's an entirely Scouse studio and that. We can all just be miserable together."

"That's the worst part," Jamie says, scrolling down gnev2's twitter, waiting for him to ask if there's MNF tomorrow, waiting for some crack about Rooney or winning or even Piers Morgan. Anything at all.

The timeline is quiet and has been for a month. Jamie puts his phone back into his pocket and follows Redders to the pub.

 

 _10.03.16_ _  
_ _Liverpool 2-0 Manchester United_

They win and he has no one to rub it in the face of. They win and Valencia lose and Jamie can only wonder how he's feeling now, a one-two knockout blow that leaves him on the floor gasping for air.

He thinks of sending a message and decides against it. They haven't spoken since Barcelona, anyway. One more game won't make a difference.

 

 _02.04.16_ _  
_ _Liverpool 1-1 Tottenham Hotspur_

"What are you going to do?"

It's ten in the evening and Gary's just called. Jamie picked up the phone without knowing who it was and is just grateful that the chair he collapsed into didn't break under him.

"Dunno. Come back to Sky, maybe. Or just sit around and look at all the stuff I own."

"What, you'd rather watch Salford than hang out with me? I'm hurt."

"There are lots of things I'd rather do than hang out with you."

"Mhm. Like kissing Scholesy or losing league games."

"Anyway, I'll - I'll think about it."

No, Jamie thinks helplessly. Continue the banter. Make it easy again. Make it like nothing ever happened.

"See you around, Carragher."

"Bye, Gary."

It isn't easy. It's the worst thing in the world.

 

 _07.08.16_ _  
_ _Liverpool 0-4 Mainz 05_

"They're fucking _Mainz_ ," Jamie complains to Redders after the game. "They're a German club that isn't Bayern or Dortmund. Those aren't even supposed to exist."

"It's just pre-season," Redders says philosophically. "We'll do all right, you'll see. Besides, I have some good news for you."

"Nothing could possibly make me feel better about getting our asses whipped by a club that rhymes with Heinz, as in tomato fucking ketchup," Jamie mumbles into his hands.

Redders leans over and winks. "Gary Neville's coming back to Sky."

 

**iii.**

 

 _14.08.16_ _  
_ _Liverpool 4-3 Arsenal_

David corners the both of them in the studio after the day's games, gives them a nervous grin. "I'm the new Ed," he offers. "Can't wait to work with you both soon."

The unfortunate side effect of a quick meet-and-greet means that when David leaves, it's just the two of them together. Jamie interviewing a room of Sir Alex Ferguson, Roy Keane, and Patrick Viera would be less awkward than this.

"Well, uh." Gary shuffles his feet and turns for the door. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah," Jamie says as he watches Gary leave. _Want to get a pint_ dies on his lips as Gary marches away, his shoulder line slightly deflated from the way Jamie remembers it. Jamie remembers a lot of things, and none of this was written on the cards.

 

 _20.08.16_ _  
_ _Liverpool 0-2 Burnley_

It isn't bad - well, the result makes Jamie want to punch himself in the face until he's lost his ability to think, though this isn't about that - but it isn't good either. Monday night was easy but Tuesday morning was not. In front of the cameras they're well oiled again, back and forth with the witty repartee as always, but the moment the cameras go off Gary goes home.

They're setting up for the day when Gary drops by before heading off to the commentary box. "Hey," he says. "Need to talk to you."

"What about?" Jamie asks. Redders tries to sidle out of the room as inconspicuously as possible, which despite his best efforts is like an elephant exiting a thimble.

"MNF on the twelfth. Phil's gonna be there instead."

"No way."

"Yeah."

"You are not sticking me with lesser Neville."

"I don't think he's lesser," Redders says from the back. Both of them ignore him.

"Sorry. I - just don't feel like I have the energy to do it all the time."

Jamie pauses. "So what, you're part time on MNF now?"

"Yeah."

There's a long, uncomfortable silence. Gary looks down. "Look, Jamie, it's got nothing to do with you or anything."

"I bet," Jamie says, more bitter than he should have been. "Chicken, aren't you, that people are going to call you out on Valencia during the twitter section."

"It's got nothing to do with that," Gary hisses, taking a step forward and pushing his face dangerously close to Jamie's. "I don't regret going."

"Well." This time Jamie is the one who leaves, sidestepping Gary and pushing past him for the door. "Don't make me regret you coming back."

 

 _16.09.16_ _  
_ _Liverpool 2-1 Chelsea_

And everything goes wrong after that.

They don't see much of each other during the weeks, which Jamie's thankful for. Even when they do run into each other in the studio they're respectful, but it's a curt 'Neville. Carragher.' before they leave to do other things. Phil does MNF and he's fine and he's funny and he's nothing, nothing at all like his older brother.

Redders and Thierry seem to find this immensely interesting. Jamie begs to differ.

Sometimes he goes to Youtube just to pull up the old shows. They're everywhere, and the memories assail him like waves - no one wants to grow up and be a Gary Neville, you'd be the burglar, that ridiculous clip of Henchoz running past him.

He's heard Klopp will be doing the next MNF, and he loves Jurgen, but it shouldn't be him. It should be a rat-faced Manc with the most annoying squeakiness and the habit of giving Jamie death stares when Jamie talks over him. It should be the way they used to make fun of Ed when he wasn't looking and the fight to get out of make-up first so that they could lay claim to 'the prettier one'.

Should be, should be, should be. Jamie buys a dartboard and tacks a printout of Valencia's crest onto it. It makes him feel a little better.

 

 _01.10.16_ _  
_ _Liverpool 2 - 1 Swansea City_

Jamie is sick of it, which is why at the ad break of the game he pulls Gary aside and kisses him.

It isn't as smooth as it sounds. Simon and Graeme are in the room and Jamie needs a good reason to get Gary alone. He settles on a vague 'Andy called and there's an emergency with the clips', at which one of the other crew members volunteers to go, and it's all a bit of a mess and Jamie is starting to wish that he'd thought this through better. After some frantic yelling and possibly minor assault Jamie finally manages to drag Gary out of the room and into a utility closet where they will hopefully not be bothered. Unless Redders comes snooping around as he always does, though Jamie has a contingency plan he's sure will work (there's a reason the only part of Redders that hasn't been injured is his face).

"What the fuck was that?" Gary snarls, too angry to remember that he's not talking to Jamie.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Jamie returns, too angry to remember that he's busy feeling sorry for himself. "You come back and everything's changed."

"That's the way things have always been," Gary mutters. "I hate you, you hate me, remember? The last three years were an aberration. We've never been friends."

"You're just trying to make it easy for yourself by being in denial."

"I'm not in denial, I'm a realist."

"You're a fucking liar is what you are."

"Carragher, we made that up. We'll keep on making it up. But we don't have to like each other."

"But what if we did?" Jamie's this close to screaming now, all the pent-up frustration at the way Gary's been treating him, at Valencia, at Phil, at United, at himself exploding out of him like a geyser. He's aware that his voice has gone all squeaky like how it gets when he's mad but he doesn't care. "What if I liked you? What if I like you so much that you leaving felt worse than Stevie leaving? What if I missed you so bad in Spain all I did was wait for you to tweet me and Redders had to feed me sodding chicken soup? What if I like you so much that it kills me when you walk past me in the hallway without saying hi? What if I've been head over the heels, so damn in love with you for two fucking years and you've just been too fucking blind to see it?"

Gary is silent and Jamie stops, suddenly realising what he's just said. He steps back and digs his nails into the palms of his hands.

"Sorry."

He turns to leave, but then Gary grabs his arm and pulls him back. Their eyes meet and even in the confines of the closet they're so close Jamie can feel his breath.

"Wait."

"Look, Gary, it's nothing. Forget what I just - "

"Hurry up and kiss me."

"- what?"

"Kiss me, you twat, before I have to kiss you and feel right terrible about myself."

So Jamie leans forward, presses his lips gingerly to Gary's, Gary's hand snaking around his neck to pull him closer. Gary's mouth is hot against his, soft and still tasting of the coke he'd had at half time. When they finally break apart Jamie manages a smile.

"Would have been better if you didn't have such a big fucking nose."

"Oh, shut up," Gary snorts. They've still got their arms around each other and Jamie feels giddy like a teenager, which is proper embarrassing considering that was twenty years ago. "I have to go, Souness will be wondering what I'm doing."

"Tell him the truth," Jamie grins slyly. "You were snogging his protege and all that."

Gary laughs and touches his forehead to Jamie's. "You're such a wanker, Carragher. I'll see you later, yeah? Don't...come out of the closet too quickly."

He winks and then he's gone, leaving Jamie to lean against the door and exhale slowly. He's just made out with Gary fucking Neville.

A thought occurs to him and he giggles. Stevie is going to be so grossed out when he hears about it.

 

**iv.**

 

 _17.10.16_ _  
_ _Liverpool - Manchester United_

Two hours to showtime and Gary's lying lazily on Jamie's sofa while Jamie desperately tries to remember his pieces and ignore the Manc.

"'m I bothering you?" Gary asks. "Or are you just worried about the arse kicking we're going to give you lot later?"

"Oh, you're the one who should be worried," Jamie replies, not looking up from his notes. "But don't worry. I've got six frosty pints in the fridge at home to console you."

"It's so nice you've readied something for my epic celebration when Rooney scores a hat trick."

"Why would you be celebrating three own goals?"

"You're one to talk about own goals, Jamie Carragher."

Jamie puts his notes down and looks up, the stupidest of grins dancing all over his face. Everything isn't just as it should be. It's better. Gary's back, Gary loves him, and Gary's standing up with an undone tie around his neck. He twitches the ends of the tie at Jamie, and Jamie stands up.

"Your tie's undone."

"You tie a good tie."

"That I do," Jamie says, and leans in for the kiss.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> \- Title is from, uh, humpty dumpty, bc they could put them back tgt again  
> \- All dates and scorelines (bar the last one) are accurate!  
> \- Redders' [Thomas Cook ad](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Z23jLO1Yk0) is a thing of beauty  
> \- The M1 is the motorway from London to the North  
> \- ["did u pracice that with Scholesy?"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z435GL2N8G8) ('cause he's jel)  
> \- [banter 1](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VypkQKVl7yo), [banter 2](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cTRzldFH7Ko), [banter 3](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k5iJCaWu7v8)  
> \- the last bit is woefully OOC but for a SUPER GOOD REASON - BC IRL THEY'RE TOTALLY CLINGIER THAN WHEN THEY STARTED OUT AND THERE'S NO TENSION WHATSOEVER AND NOTHING HURTS :)))))))))))) and i am v happy :))))))))  
> \- for ali, for being the best kind of football fan there is <3


End file.
